


Beauty Lies In The Eye Of The Beholder

by thilia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-08
Updated: 2009-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilia/pseuds/thilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had almost lost hope of finding a model for his latest project when <i>he</i> walked in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty Lies In The Eye Of The Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hp_cross_fest 2009 on LJ.

Dean stirred his coffee slowly as he browsed through the stack of pictures that had been sent to him as a response to his advertisement in the newspaper. He had looked at the photos more or less a hundred times, had memorized the faces and bodies, but none of the people depicted looked completely right.

Most of them were beautiful – no question about that. Some of them had even mentioned that they had some experience when it came to posing nude for an artist. Dean appreciated that, though he didn’t mind working with a first-timer. He’d had countless models and now they all seemed plain and boring. What he was looking for was someone special. Someone who had something that the others didn’t have. He didn’t know _what_ , he just knew that he couldn’t paint any of these ordinary people.

Not all hope was lost, however, since he’d received six letters from people that hadn’t included pictures. And that was why he was sitting at a table in this little Muggle café in the middle of this beautiful autumn day. He was going to meet them and would find the perfect model for his new project – or so he hoped.

An hour and five good-looking people who didn’t seem to have any personality whatsoever later, Dean was beginning to lose hope. He impatiently tapped his fingers on the wooden table and was about to pack his stuff and leave when _he_ came through the door.

Dean paused and knew that he was the one he wanted. The boy was, from what Dean could tell, no older than seventeen. He wasn’t one of those people that entered a room and immediately attracted everyone’s attention. He wasn’t striking in any way, and hardly anyone looked up as he entered the café. But Dean had long ago learned to look past first appearances, and he knew that this boy was different than all the other men and women Dean had seen today. He had _it_. He had that certain something that Dean was looking for.

The boy was an ordinary teenager; tall – and a little gangly – with curly, auburn hair and brown eyes. His skin was a little too pale and freckled, his nose too long and his body too narrow and slim to be considered handsome in a masculine way. His clothes were nothing out of the ordinary, and when he grinned, Dean could see that his teeth were slightly crooked.

Objectively, he wasn’t all that handsome. And still there was something about that boy that struck Dean as incredibly interesting, and he knew that he wanted to work with him, or no one. A slight shiver ran down Dean’s back when their eyes met, and he quickly drank a sip of coffee to hide his fascination and act normal.

As he looked at the boy, Dean thought that there was something vaguely familiar about him, but as much as he thought about it, he wasn’t able to place him. Besides, he was certain that he would have remembered him if they’d met before.

“Mr. Thomas?” The boy asked when he approached Dean’s table, almost stumbling over a woman’s handbag as he strode forward. He apologized to the woman, and then gave Dean an awkward smile as his face flushed with embarrassment at his own clumsiness. When he finally reached Dean, he stuck out his hand which Dean accepted and held just a little longer than strictly necessary. “I’m Hugo. Nice to meet you, Mr. Thomas.”

Dean returned the smile warmly and offered Hugo a seat. “Please, call me Dean. And you’re Hugo?” He glanced down at his list and smiled. “Ah, right. You’re the last one, today.”

Hugo smiled hesitantly, fumbling with his t-shirt and looking around. Dean watched him for a long moment, and when their eyes met again, Dean noticed a hint of sadness in Hugo’s deep, brown eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder why he was sad.

Or maybe he wasn’t sad at all. Maybe it was just part of his mysteriousness.

Dean shook his head and concentrated on business then, asking Hugo a few basic questions. After the boy had reassured him more than once that he was really eighteen they quickly came to an agreement and signed the contract.

Hugo would come to Dean’s atelier the next day, and Dean was relieved about the successful end of his day.

~ * ~

Dean sharpened his pencils and aligned them neatly on the table where he kept his materials. He adjusted the canvas, averting his eyes from Hugo who was taking his clothes off. He had to admit that he was tempted to watch him, but under no circumstances did he want to make Hugo uncomfortable in any way, so he just kept his eyes fixed on the empty white space in front of him, wondering if he could ever do Hugo’s beauty justice.

He adjusted the canvas once again and only looked up when he heard the rustling of his bed sheets. Dean’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Hugo, naked and sprawled out on his bed, and for a moment he could do nothing but stare.

Hugo was beautiful. He was _beyond_ beautiful but no other word to describe him came to Dean’s mind as he looked at the young man’s pale, slender body. Again, Dean had to admit that to the casual observer, Hugo was nothing extraordinary but he had a kind of beauty that Dean had rarely seen before.

Hugo’s auburn hair fell in gentle curls around his almost cherub-like face. His eyes were shining in the light of the candles that gave his pale body a distinct, golden tan. Dean’s eyes followed the delicate line of Hugo’s neck to his sharp shoulders and down his chest to the small, pink nipples. Hugo didn’t have excessive muscles but his stomach was flat and his hipbones jutted out. His legs were strong yet slim and Dean couldn’t look away from the small scar just below Hugo’s navel. He wondered when he’d gotten that.

Hugo’s hand was resting on his hip and Dean took in the long, slim fingers; like the rest of Hugo’s body, they were covered with thousands of tiny freckles. Never before had Dean considered freckles attractive but they looked so _right_ on Hugo’s body that Dean couldn’t help but find them endearing.

Finally, Dean’s eyes travelled to the young man’s cock which was partly hidden by Hugo’s thigh and surrounded by a patch of thick, dark red curls.

Hugo was breathtaking.

Dean wanted to bury his face in his reddish curls and brush his lips over every inch of the younger man’s pale body; to use his tongue to connect all of those freckles.

Realizing that he was staring in a rather inappropriate way, Dean blinked and glanced at his canvas instead, biting his lip. He opened his mouth to give Hugo some instructions when the younger boy moved on his own and took a pose that made him look strong, yet delicate and vulnerable at the same time.

That kid may not be experienced but he was definitely a natural at this.

“Hold that pose,” Dean said quietly and began sketching the outline of Hugo’s body with a pencil, adding rough shadows when he was done with the first, basic sketch. Then he reached for his watercolours, keeping everything in natural, brownish tones.

He worked in silence for a long time, aware of Hugo’s eyes on him and admiring the boy for holding the pose without tiring of it. Dean had never been this thorough with a drawing before; he wanted to capture every little detail and every last freckle.

When he was mostly done, he took a step back, tilted his head and looked at the drawing in fascination, comparing it to the real “thing” which was still lying on his bed. He lost himself in the drawing for a moment; it was, without any doubt, the most beautiful artwork he had ever had the pleasure to create.

Dean blinked when he suddenly felt Hugo’s chin on his shoulder; he hadn’t even realized that the younger boy had joined him. Dean turned his head slightly and looked at him inquiringly. “What do you think?”

Hugo seemed momentarily lost in his all thoughts, but when he spoke, there was a smile on his lips. “I think I’m not that beautiful,” he said softly. “But it does have a certain resemblance.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? A certain resemblance?”

Hugo grinned and shrugged, still not removing his chin from Dean’s shoulder. Rather than finding it disturbing, Dean thought it felt sort of comforting to have Hugo this close. As if he could read Dean’s mind, Hugo slid his arms around Dean’s body and buried his face in his neck. “More than a certain resemblance,” he murmured, his voice muffled as his face was still in Dean’s neck. “I just don’t see that kind of beauty in me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and turned around in Hugo’s arms, tilting his chin up. “Are you kidding? I don’t embellish the subjects of my art, Hugo. I’m a realist and I draw them just the way they are.”

Hugo looked at him uncertainly and shrugged. “I like the way you look at me then,” he whispered, then tilted his head and gently brushed his lips over Dean’s.

Dean wondered how Hugo had known that this was what he’d been thinking about since the first moment he saw Hugo, but quickly pushed those thoughts away and returned the kiss with equal tenderness, wrapping his strong arms around the younger boy and pulling him close.

A soft gasp escaped Hugo’s lips and he slid his hand beneath Dean’s shirt, marvelling in the softness of Dean’s dark skin. Soon, their clothes were discarded and Dean had picked Hugo up and carried him to the bed.

He laid him down gently and slid on top of him, pressing the lengths of their bodies together, moaning at the feel of Hugo’s perfect body underneath his own. He deepened the kiss and sank his fingers into those thick, heavy curls before trailing his lips along Hugo’s jaw and sucking on the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

His tongue travelled down Hugo’s chest, and Dean’s cock gave a slight twitch when he felt Hugo’s nipples harden beneath his tongue.

His hands moved down Hugo’s sides, needing to touch every inch of that incredibly soft, pale skin while his tongue connected some of Hugo’s freckles on his hips. His skin tasted sweet.

Lost in the sensations, Dean was caught by surprise when Hugo suddenly reversed their positions and started kissing Dean’s abs. The temptation to close his eyes and just enjoy was strong, but at the same time, Dean wanted to keep his eyes open and watch Hugo, just to have it all imprinted in his brain, in case this turned out to be a one-time thing.

They rolled around again after a while, and soon their bodies were slick with sweat and Dean had produced a tube of lube and slid two fingers up inside Hugo, moaning at the feel of those strong muscles clenching around them.

When he felt the younger boy relax, he replaced his fingers with his cock and started thrusting, his hands moving up Hugo’s arms to pin his wrists to his bed, his eyes never leaving Hugo’s. It didn’t take a long time for both of them to feel their orgasms approaching and their moans were muffled when their lips met in another passionate kiss.

After he’d spilled himself inside Hugo, Dean stayed on top of him, touching that beautiful body until his cock softened and he had to roll off him.

He turned his head and watched Hugo roll onto his stomach, then reached out to brush his fingers over the other boy’s slick back and that perfect, round ass.

They lay in silence for a long while, just looking at each other and touching every part of the other’s body that they could reach.

“How can you call me beautiful,” Hugo said then, softly, “when you see yourself in the mirror every day? I’m nothing compared to you, Dean. My father said you were good-looking, but I didn’t expect... well, _this_.”

Dean chuckled and shook his head, then blinked and frowned in confusion. “Your father? What do you-”

He trailed off when he suddenly realized why Hugo looked so familiar. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it before; the resemblance was definitely there. “Ron,” he said quietly. “You’re Ron and Hermione’s son.”

Hugo bit his lip and nodded. “Are you mad?”

Dean stared into his eyes for a moment, then sat up and lowered his head, shaking it. “You should have told me,” he said quietly. “But... no, I’m not mad, and I definitely don’t regret this.”

Hugo’s face lit up in relief and he gave Dean a sweet smile. Dean looked at him, then slid out of the bed and reached for a piece of paper and his pencil. “Don’t move,” he said, then started drawing.

“Where did you learn to draw like that?” Hugo asked curiously after a moment.

Dean shrugged, only taking his eyes off his drawing to make sure he didn’t miss anything. “I taught myself,” he murmured, then reached for the watercolours to give his work more depth. “I’ve always done it; I just got better over the years, with a lot of practice. I always knew that a job at the Ministry or something else in the Wizarding world wouldn’t be the right thing for me. I’ve always been an artist.”

Hugo nodded, watching him thoughtfully. “I can draw a little,” he admitted. “Far away from the perfection of your drawings, though.”

“I’m sure you’re great,” Dean murmured, and when he looked up again, Hugo had rolled onto his back and was trailing those long, elegant fingers over his already hard cock. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and watched him for a moment, mesmerized.

He didn’t know what it was about this boy that fascinated him so much; he just somehow managed to make everything look beautiful and sexy.

Distracted by the movement of Hugo’s hand, he set his unfinished drawing aside and pounced, ready for another round of passionate love-making.

~ * ~

When Dean woke up the next morning, the spot beside him was empty, and a glance at the chair by the bed where Hugo had put his clothes the previous day told him that he was gone. He sat up and panicked for a brief moment; he had no telephone number, no address, and he could hardly call Hugo’s parents.

He would probably never see Hugo again unless the boy chose to come back. It wasn’t until then that he saw a piece of parchment on his nightstand, next to the drawing of Hugo that he’d left there, unfinished.

Curious, Dean reached out to pick it up and turned it around, a soft chuckle escaping him.

Then he got up and waited for the evening to come.


End file.
